


To Want and Not Have

by Dazzledfirestar



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captivity, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Masturbation, Rape Fantasy, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzledfirestar/pseuds/Dazzledfirestar
Summary: He's been at this for weeks. Something's got to give.





	To Want and Not Have

**Author's Note:**

> Set during _Captain America Vol. 5 #15_ during Sin's deprogramming.
> 
> Written for my trope bingo card ([found here](http://dazzledfirestar.dreamwidth.org/154657.html)). Prompts: Amnesia, Drunk Fic

She stopped screaming twenty minutes ago. He’s not sure if she just tired herself out or not. He’s doing his level best not to care. The girl in there… she’s not real. She’s not who she’s supposed to be. She’s what some SHIELD flunkie cooked up in a file somewhere. She’s fiction.

He tells himself that again as he lets the whiskey burn its way down his throat. It’s cheap and it damn near stings on the way down but he knows he’s sucking it down fast enough that it doesn’t really matter in the long run. There’s already an empty fifth beside him. This one’s going to join it soon. He takes deep breaths between gulps and stares at the door. He knows how this is going to go. He’s been at it since a couple nights into this operation. It’ll hit him all at once—hasn’t been in his system long enough to do anything really yet—and he’ll eventually stumble up to his room and pass out face first on the bed.

It’s the shit that goes through his mind before that that he hates. No… not hates exactly. Some of it is good. Some of it is real good and that’s why he’s doing this. Not for her old man. For her. She deserves to have her life. Deserves something better than the shit her old man put her through. Something better than this cheerleader bullshit.

And clearly the whiskey is kicking in.

He sighs, getting up and pacing a little. If he goes upstairs now he’ll save his shins and maybe get some sleep before she comes to again. He lets himself entertain the idea that maybe this time it worked. Maybe he finally pushed her far enough. Maybe she’ll come back.

Maybe he’s gonna have to do the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do. Not to her. Not until she’s herself again. Thing is, he’s running out of ideas and having her that close… it’s a last resort. He just keeps telling himself that. 

He finishes off the bottle in his hand and lets it drop. Won’t make a difference if she finds it there tomorrow. This useless bitch won’t use it. She would… she’d cut him apart with it. But this one? This one doesn’t have it in her. And that only makes him angrier than he already is about this shit.

He knows what he wants to do. Probably wouldn’t work though. But he wants to go through that door and do every nasty thing he’d been dreaming about since the last time he saw her. He wants to pin her down and fuck her until she remembers who she is and what she’s supposed to be. And yeah, she’d probably rip his dick off and shove it down his throat for it if she did remember but it’d be worth it if she came back.

He stumbles back up the stairs, just sober enough to get his boots and gear off before collapsing into bed. But he can’t get to sleep. He knows why. His brain is spinning over memories and half formed fantasies about the woman downstairs… or who she used to be.

He groans, getting out of the rest of his clothes and tossing them and his mask on the chair beside the bed. His hand moves more on instinct than any real intent, stroking his cock as his mind wanders. Even through the haze of all the whiskey, it doesn’t take much to get him hard. Memories of her voice in his ear, dark corners…

_“You keep that up and you’re going to get us caught.”_

Her laugh as she teased him within an inch of his control… how she’d find the worst time to get him hot and walk away. The time he fucked her while she was giving a report to Scarbo on the phone; how she’d struggled to keep her voice level and damn near whimpered when he thumbed at her ass.

_“Brock! Harder… I’m not gonna break!”_

It doesn’t take long for his mind to twist things, blending the girl downstairs with the woman he’d fallen in love with mostly against his will or better judgement. He imagines wrapping his hand around her throat, pressing her to the wall; taking her hard and fast over and over again the way he knows she loves it. Even if she doesn’t remember and know it herself. He’s made her scream, cry, beg, all of that in the last couple weeks… but this—this would be different. This would work.

And this was going to get him off. 

_“… Let me go… just please… let me go…”_

He growls and strokes faster, finally getting some kind of relief as he comes hard. He half-heartedly cleans himself up, pulling the sheets up and promptly passing out, the fantasy still fresh in his mind. Tomorrow… he tells himself. If she’s not back by tomorrow, he’ll give in and do it.

It’s the cool press of sharp metal to his throat that wakes him. The weight on the bed. The pull on the sheets. He’s 99% sure he knows what’s going on even through the hangover that’s threatening in the back of his head.

“You shouldn’t leave knives around if you’re planning on torturing a girl, Brock.”

He can’t help it as he looks up at her. She might kill him. She might cut something off and make him suffer. He knows that. But it worked. She’s back.

And he smiles.


End file.
